Crimson Rambler

 NOW that a crimson rambler
 begins to crawl over the house
 of our two lives—

Now that a red curve
 winds across the shingles—

Now that hands
 washed in early sunrises
 climb and spill scarlet
 on a white lattice weave—

Now that a loop of blood
 is written on our roof
 and reaching around a chimney—

How are the two lives of this house
 to keep strong hands and strong hearts?

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